He Doth Not Sleep
by Moranth
Summary: A brief look at what may have happened after the coup attempt on the Citadel. T for a little language.


"Shepard, now might not be the best time."

Alena wheeled around, uncertain who dared spew such treasonous sentiment at her back. None of those gathered there admitted to speaking, working hard to avoid her gaze. She'd save the dressing down for later. That, _that,_ could wait. This could not.

"This needs to be done now. There might not be a later." Kolyat was getting ready to make the trip back to Kahje, and Alena had no idea when she would find time in the midst of all this mess to make it there. Time was in short supply, as it always was, and she knew that hers was running out.

They'd removed his body from the room. It had been washed and prepped, the horrible wound it bore in its breast hidden beneath thick rolls of fabric. He was swathed in dark blue robes, reminiscent of Kahje's depths, Kolyat had told her. She stood with it now, in the belly of a freighter, where they would truss it up like cargo, like another item to be shipped from one port to the next.

This was her last chance to say goodbye. And even though she knew his wait for her in whatever came after this wouldn't be long, she felt the need to do this.

"Shepard-"

There was a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off without giving its owner the courtesy of a glare.

"I need to do this. If you aren't here to pay your respects, then get the _fuck_ back aboard the Normandy. If you really have issues with what I do with my time, then feel free to request a goddamn transfer. See you later. You won't be missed." Her fingers bit into the sides of the container until they hurt, until they left grooves, scoring her palms until they went pale from the lack of blood. She waited until she heard multiple footsteps padding away from her before she let her arms relax, giving her palms a chance to regain their shape.

She knew she'd be paying for her words later, making up for her sharpness with a bit of extra shore leave for whoever had been foolish enough to stay after her outburst. She was wound far too tightly, having neither eaten nor slept since it happened. Since he'd...

She didn't want to believe that it was him in this box, so still, his skin clammy to the touch. But it looked like him, as if he were merely sleeping. She wanted to climb in with him and meet whatever fate awaited him by his side, but she knew that she couldn't.

He wasn't really there.

All that had been Thane was gone, leaving a shell for the few left behind to mourn... And since she couldn't go with him, follow him into the depths of the unknown right away, her presence too necessary for reasons beyond even her understanding, she would leave part of her with him.

Hibiscus and jasmine. They hadn't been easy to find this far from Earth or any other human colony, and they hadn't been cheap. They were her favorite flowers as a kid, growing up on Mindoir. Her mother had been lucky enough to cultivate them in the little garden they'd kept around their house. They'd heralded back to their roots in the Caribbean and was like keeping a piece of home with them, her mother said. They were her favorite flower, reminding her of when things were simple and beautiful. She even had a cluster of the two flowers tattooed on her lower back. When Thane had asked about it, it had sparked a whole conversation about her childhood. She'd told him things she'd never told anyone, not that anyone ever asked, ever saw her as anything more than this machine built to wage their wars.

She hadn't asked his. What his favorite flower was, his favorite song, too caught up in having someone to share herself with, someone to just _be_ with. Thane, to his credit, had never been upset, seeming content to listen to her blather on and on. She liked to think that he _liked_ to listen to her stories, imparting so few of his own. It might have been selfish and childish of her to think that way, but now, it didn't seem to matter.

She laid them inside makeshift coffin, the pinks, reds and whites almost startling against the darkness of his robe. She set a few around his head, tucking them behind his frill where, now, they would stay. She'd always wanted to do that, to see him get exasperated or  
smile from the ridiculousness of it, even as the blossoms slid off the smooth contours of his head, but she'd never found the time.

The flowers were bold, striking, not all suited for this somber duty. But they suited him.

Alena leaned in, her shadow crossing over him, and kissed him, his once warm lips cold and unresponsive. She took his hand in hers, unable to keep the tears from falling now as she whispered near his ear, unable to stop the motion, so routine for them, though she knew that he couldn't hear.

If she lingered any longer, Alena knew she really would be winding her way to Kahje right along side him before the night cycle ended.

There was still more work to be done before she could rest.

She'd be with him soon.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to kalenel for her help on this.


End file.
